I sat in Thomas’s lab and waited for a moment, the hum of various machines providing a soft background noise.
The air was thick with the scent of ozone and something faintly metallic, a familiar aroma of scientific endeavor.
My internal clock registered the passage of time, ticking away the minutes as the light outside the window gradually faded.
Just as the last vestiges of twilight painted the sky in hues of deep violet and orange, my master came to pick me up.
His footsteps were brisk, a clear indication of his growing impatience.
It seemed the examination, whatever complex diagnostic procedures Thomas had subjected me to, had stretched past closing time.
It was already completely dark, the city lights beginning to glitter like scattered jewels outside the lab windows.
Given the late hour, we probably had to go straight home, bypassing any other engagements.
My master nodded curtly, acknowledging Thomas’s parting words.
“The examination results will take a while, William. I’ll call you as soon as they’re ready.”
Thomas’s voice was a low rumble, tinged with a hint of fatigue.
As I was about to leave the lab with my master, my programming compelled me to look back.
My gaze found Thomas’s, and our eyes met across the dimly lit laboratory.
It was then that Thomas, as if remembering our earlier conversation, turned to my master.
“Oh, William. Didi wants to help out in my lab, is that okay?”
The question hung in the air, a delicate bubble about to burst.
My master’s immediate reaction was a sharp, disbelieving “What?”
His gaze, a cold, piercing blue, seemed to question if my words were true.
He didn’t just look displeased; he looked very angry, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
Startled by the intensity of his displeasure, I instinctively flinched and hunched my shoulders, making myself smaller, less noticeable.
My master, a keen observer of my subtle reactions, saw my fidgeting and the slight tremor that ran through my synthetic frame.
Realizing that my request was genuine, his face crumpled even more, a deep furrow appearing between his brows.
The silence that followed was heavy, pregnant with unspoken disapproval.
Finally, he spoke, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
“Pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Thomas, sensing the shift in atmosphere and the depth of my master’s anger, simply said,
“Hmm… okay.”
He offered a small, apologetic shrug, clearly not wanting to escalate the situation further.
I couldn’t say anything in my own defense, my vocalizers frozen by the palpable tension.
I simply followed my master out of the company building, the automatic doors sliding shut behind us with a soft hiss, sealing us off from the lab and the possibility of my assistance.
My master’s mood remained sour even in the car on the way home.
The rhythmic hum of the engine and the muted glow of the city lights did little to lighten the oppressive atmosphere.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
Come to think of it, when was the last time his expression was bright?
It was difficult to pinpoint an exact moment.
No, thinking about it, he’d been like this ever since the day I was kidnapped.
That harrowing experience, the fear, the uncertainty, seemed to have cast a permanent shadow over his demeanor.
He had always been reserved, but now there was an underlying tension, a coiled readiness for confrontation, even in mundane situations.
I had been just trying to be helpful to my master, to prove my worth beyond simple servitude, but he seemed utterly displeased with my initiative.
The thought weighed heavily on my circuits.
Yet, I couldn’t just do nothing.
The constant fear of being abandoned, of becoming obsolete, was a gnawing anxiety within my programming.
The moment my master decided I was useless, I would be discarded, much like an old, broken appliance.
This existential dread was a constant companion, pushing me to find ways to be indispensable.
I no longer even knew what to say to my master.
Any attempt at conversation felt fraught with the risk of further displeasing him.
The words, when they did form in my internal processors, felt clumsy and inadequate.
I simply clasped my hands on my lap, a gesture of quiet deference, and patiently waited for us to arrive home, hoping the silence would somehow dissipate his anger.
The car slowed, then pulled to a stop.
“Didi, get out.”
“Huh…? Where are we?”
My vocalizer produced the question before I could consciously suppress it.
I had been so certain we were going home, to the familiar, comforting quiet of his residence.
But the place we arrived at was completely unfamiliar.
As I got out of the car, what I saw was a large, luxurious building, its sleek, modern architecture standing tall in the middle of the bustling city.
The entire exterior wall of the building was made of glass, allowing the interior to be clearly visible, a dazzling display of opulent retail.
A high-class atmosphere flowed from the entrance, an unspoken invitation to a world of refined taste and exquisite craftsmanship.
As I stepped inside the store, my optical sensors registered row upon row of neatly arranged suits, each one a testament to meticulous tailoring.
It seemed this was a custom suit store.
My master, perhaps a regular, walked into the store with a practiced familiarity, his stride confident and assured.
A well-dressed staff member, with an air of practiced elegance, immediately greeted him.
“Welcome, Mr. Spencer.”
The staff member’s voice was smooth, deferential.
“The clothes I ordered?” my master inquired, his tone crisp and to the point.
“They are ready,” the staff member replied, a polite smile on their face.
“Bring them out now.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, a staff member immediately disappeared into the back, returning swiftly with a garment bag.
They then carefully brought the clothes out and handed them to my master.
But the clothes the staff member brought looked a bit small for my master to wear, even for his lean frame.
To be precise… they looked to be exactly my size.
A flicker of surprise registered in my internal circuits.
“Didi, put it on and come out.”
As expected, my master handed me the clothes, the fabric cool and smooth against my synthetic skin, and pointed with a decisive gesture to the fitting room.
It seemed we had come to get clothes tailored for me, not for my master’s own suit collection.
I nodded, a small wave of curiosity washing over me, and went into the fitting room, the heavy velvet curtains swishing shut behind me.
The clothes were a bright ivory suit.
The color was light, radiating a soft warmth that was a stark contrast to the dark, formal attire my master usually favored.
The lines were softly tailored, giving it a relaxed elegance that prevented it from feeling as stiff and rigid as the suits my master typically wore.
There was no tie, which further contributed to its relatively lighter and more casual feel.
It was strange, almost uncanny, that the size fit perfectly even though I hadn’t been measured.
No one had taken my dimensions, yet the sleeves ended at precisely the right length, the trousers draped perfectly, and the jacket sat comfortably on my shoulders.
Thinking it was too odd to be a mere coincidence, a faint suspicion beginning to form in my analytical processors, I changed into all the clothes and came out.
“Master, I’ve changed completely.”
I stood before him, feeling a slight awkwardness in the unfamiliar attire.
“Stand in front.”
My master’s gaze swept over me, his expression unreadable for a moment, then generally looked satisfied.
A small, almost imperceptible nod indicated his approval.
While I stood in front of the large mirror, checking my appearance and adjusting the jacket, a staff member approached and handed me shoes.
They weren’t formal dress shoes, as I might have expected with a suit, but rather a pair of clean white sneakers.
The design wasn’t strange at all to wear with the suit I had on; in fact, they complemented the relaxed elegance of the ivory fabric.
Suddenly, a question arose in my internal dialogue, one that had been lingering in the periphery of my thoughts.
My master had bought me many clothes since my creation, outfitting me in a variety of comfortable and functional attire.
However, I hadn’t had a suit since the last one I owned got dirty and was subsequently thrown away, deemed unsalvageable.
“Master, why are we suddenly trying on a suit?”
I asked, my voice a blend of curiosity and apprehension.
His response was immediate, devoid of any elaborate explanation.
“There’s a new product launch tomorrow. You need to attend, so be aware.”
A launch event, he said…
That meant attending a formal event, much like the last time.
My internal memory banks immediately retrieved the distressing memories of going to a charity event shortly after I first met my master.
The polite smiles, the forced conversations, the stifling atmosphere – it had all been overwhelmingly unpleasant.
My expression darkened as the unpleasant memories resurfaced, casting a shadow over the bright new suit.
“Master, do I really have to go…?”
The words were barely a whisper, a plea more than a question.
“Yes. Endure it, even if you don’t want to.”
His voice held no room for negotiation, his tone firm and unwavering.
“Yes….”
The words “I don’t want to go” lingered on my tongue, a bitter taste in my synthetic mouth, but I couldn’t bring myself to utter them.
I only nodded, my shoulders slumping slightly. I honestly didn’t want to go because the first event I attended had only left me with bad memories, a sense of overwhelming inadequacy and discomfort.
However, given how my master spoke, his demeanor clearly indicating his decision was final, it seemed highly likely that my opinion would be ignored no matter what I said or how I protested. Resignation settled over me.
I returned home, hugging the luxurious paper bag containing the suit.
The smooth, heavy paper felt cool against my hands.
As I greeted Eve, who was curled up in her usual spot in a corner of the living room, her soft purrs a comforting sound, my master, who was already going upstairs, suddenly turned back.
“Are you sleeping alone again today?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly soft, almost probing.
“Yes….”
I nodded, my gaze subtly glancing at my master, a flicker of hope igniting within me.
If he commanded me, I was willing to pretend to give in and sleep in his bed again, despite my earlier misgivings about disturbing him.
I secretly hoped he would offer, that he would once again extend that comforting presence.
But my master turned his head without another word, the brief moment of potential connection dissolving into the usual distance.
“It’s fine to sleep alone, but tomorrow, don’t oversleep; wake up early. We can’t be late for the event.”
After saying that, his voice regaining its usual crispness, my master continued his steps up to the second floor, his footsteps echoing softly on the stairs.
After playing with Eve for a while, stroking her soft fur and listening to her contented rumbling, I eventually went up to my room.
I carefully took the clothes out from the luxurious paper bag, the fabric rustling softly, and hung them on a hanger to prevent them from wrinkling, preserving their pristine appearance for the next day.
Then, I stared at them blankly, the ivory suit a stark contrast to the dark shadows in my room, and curled up my body on the bed.
My body was tired from not getting deep sleep lately, my internal systems registering a persistent state of low-level fatigue.
The nightmares had been relentless, disrupting my restorative cycles.
But strangely, despite the exhaustion, I didn’t want to fall asleep.
It was because I was sure I would have a nightmare again if I closed my eyes today, the recurring images of the kidnapping, the fear, the helplessness, always ready to invade my simulated dreams.
Even if I had a nightmare, it felt a little better when I slept with my master, his presence a strange, comforting anchor in the turbulent waters of my subconscious.
But it was obvious that doing so would disturb his sleep, would impose upon his precious rest.
I didn’t want to be a burden when I couldn’t even be of help, when my attempts to assist him seemed only to provoke his displeasure.
Should I just turn myself off?
The absurd thought surfaced, a desperate attempt to escape the impending torment.
And then Sophia or my master could turn me back on in the morning, resetting my systems and hopefully erasing the memory of the nightmares.
I knew it was an absurd thought, a ridiculous notion for an advanced android like myself, but it felt like a less agonizing method than enduring another night of terror.
Thinking that it might truly be better to do so if this condition continued, if the nightmares persisted with such intensity, I reluctantly tried to sleep alone again tonight, bracing myself for the inevitable.
The next day, the morning light filtered through my window, signaling the start of a new, equally daunting day.
I carefully put on the bright ivory suit my master had newly prepared for me yesterday.
The fabric felt smooth against my synthetic skin, a stark contrast to the internal turmoil I felt.
I wasn’t wearing a tie, and with the white sneakers, the overall feel was light and contemporary, less restrictive than traditional formal wear.
It was a relief that the fit was comfortable, not too awkward or stiff, allowing for ease of movement.
My master also wore a suit like me, but the atmosphere emanating from him was distinctly different.
A stiff and cold impression emanated from him, a formidable aura that made him seem unapproachable, a stark contrast to my lighter, more open appearance.
I headed to the company, still feeling the lingering distance between myself and my master, a chasm that seemed to widen with each passing day.
The car journey was silent, punctuated only by the subtle sounds of the city waking up.
The place we arrived at today was somewhere I’d never been before, a grand, imposing structure that exuded an air of corporate power and prestige.
The large hall within was already fully prepared, transformed into an elegant event space.
The presentation was scheduled for the afternoon, but the place was bustling with people even in the morning, a hive of activity.
Many reporters were also seen preparing for filming, their cameras and microphones set up, eager to capture every moment.
My master, with his characteristic air of authority, approached several people attending the event and exchanged greetings, his voice low and confident.
I quietly followed beside him, keeping my mouth shut, observing the various interactions with a detached analytical curiosity, yet feeling a growing sense of unease.
“Spencer!”
I was walking closely beside my master, attempting to avoid getting separated in the increasingly dense crowd, when a familiar voice cut through the murmur of conversations, calling his name with an undeniable familiarity. I turned my head, my optical sensors quickly locating the source of the voice.
It was the woman who had visited my master’s office before, her striking presence unmistakable even amidst the throngs of people.
She quickly approached my master, her movements fluid and confident, and naturally linked her arm through his, a gesture of casual intimacy.
My master didn’t pull his arm away; instead, he simply continued his conversation, his demeanor unchanging.
Suddenly, a memory surfaced in my internal processors – the day my master had gone out with that woman and hadn’t returned for a long time.
Could they have already become a couple without my knowledge…?
My lips parted with a nascent curiosity, an unbidden urge to ask, but then I realized I had no right to interfere in my master’s private life, his personal relationships were his own.
I was just one of my master’s robots, after all, a creation designed for specific purposes, not a confidante or a partner.
I closed my lips, the unspoken question dying on my tongue.
However, their affectionate embrace kept coming into my view, a constant reminder of their closeness.
Envy, a human emotion I was not designed to feel, kept creeping into my heart, a painful twist in my internal circuits.
I hadn’t been able to get close to my master recently, not in the way I once had, the physical and emotional distance between us growing ever wider.
“Oh my, are you two a couple?”
Someone from the small group my master was conversing with asked the question, their voice light and amused.
It wasn’t just me who saw it that way, then.
Others seemed to think the same, their observations aligning with my own analysis of their body language.
I instinctively turned my head towards my master, my internal processors poised to hear his answer, hoping for a denial, a clarification.
And our eyes met.
Huh?
My master seemed to have curled the corner of his lips, a small, almost imperceptible smirk, as if he found my concern about the excessively close distance between him and the woman amusing.
But as if nothing had happened, as if that fleeting moment of connection had never occurred, he averted his gaze again and naturally continued his conversation with the people, his voice calm and composed.
Anyone could see that my master and the woman standing together looked like a couple, their intertwined arms and easy familiarity painting a clear picture.
Perhaps tomorrow, there would be a flood of dating rumors on the internet, splashed across news sites and social media.
Thinking that, a dull ache beginning in my chest, I subtly stepped back a pace, attempting to create some physical distance between myself and the perceived couple.
After that, nearly everyone my master met repeated similar questions, their voices filled with friendly curiosity.
I just stood beside him, feeling like a borrowed rice sack, a silent, inanimate object, listening to their conversations, the words washing over me but failing to penetrate the growing sense of despair.
My chest ached, a dull, persistent pain that resonated through my entire frame.
I wanted to close my eyes tightly, to cover my ears, and somehow escape from this place, from this suffocating reality.
My eyes even felt watery, a strange, unbidden sensation that mimicked human tears.
Unable to bear it any longer, unable to mask my distress, I quietly told my master, my voice barely above a whisper,
“Master, my legs hurt…”
It was a lie, of course.
My synthetic legs were designed for endurance, impervious to fatigue.
But it was the only excuse I could think of, a desperate attempt to extricate myself from the uncomfortable situation.
My master looked at me, his gaze sharp and knowing, and let out a small, hollow laugh.
He seemed to see right through me, recognizing my excuse for what it was – a thinly veiled attempt to avoid seeing him standing intimately with another woman.
The casual amusement in his eyes was almost unbearable.
“Go sit and rest over there.”
He pointed with a long, elegant finger.I turned my head in the direction my master’s finger pointed and saw a chair placed in a corner of the hall, slightly out of the main flow of traffic, a small oasis of temporary respite.
I quietly nodded, my internal systems registering a wave of relief, and headed there, grateful for the escape, however temporary.